


break me down, build me up

by spacs



Series: i never knew anyone until i knew you [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Android Ignis AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacs/pseuds/spacs
Summary: It is a strange thing to watch - arms being compared, new waists, chests, and legs being brought out based on measurements, as they construct a body of a boy older than the one Ignis previously occupied.





	break me down, build me up

**Author's Note:**

> [series title inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOFvJVroAJE)   
>  [work title inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhP3J0j9JmY)

If he could hate, he would hate being shipped off for hardware updates. It is loud and unpleasant. He is kept awake as they dismantle his body, pain receptors disabled, and then he is ignored. On occasion he is asked about functionality, but it is typical to spend hours in silence.

Ignis misses Noctis during this time. The prince would talk to him, ask questions, and Ignis could feel useful. He does not feel useful lying on a table, exposed, being prodded incessantly.

It is a strange thing to watch - arms being compared, new waists, chests, and legs being brought out based on measurements, as they construct a body of a boy older than the one Ignis previously occupied. He hears them talking about blueprints, feedback, and suggestions from the king himself.

Every other year they replace his facial features, the only thing he keeps are the eyes. He is a manufactured child, grown from adolescence to teen, forcibly aged as no other android has ever been.

Very strange.

The prince has human friends, but none he trusts or relies on more than Ignis, _Specs_ , as Noctis calls him now. Apparently, _Iggy_ was too childish, though the nickname slips out when they are alone. He knows humans desire connection - emotional, physical, mental - but why look for it in a machine. Even as Noctis grows to be fourteen, he insists Ignis is more.

_We’re friends. You’re not just a machine, Specs._

_Noctis, perhaps it is time you stop believing in fairytales._

No matter how many times they had the argument, Noctis’s mind remains the same. He has taken to throwing a grin in Ignis’s direction now, then diverting the conversation to homework, video games, or simply something that is not _that_.

Ignis knows what he is and what he is not. Staring up at harsh florescent lights, the screech of a saw against metal, all functionality suspended from his body.

“Lift your left leg, IGN-15.”

A spark in his mind and a click into place, and, briefly, his leg is his own once more. As instructed he lifts his leg at the waist, straight up. He can feel a hand around his calf and a pressure at his ankle, but no pain. Receptors are still inactive.

“Now bend at the knee.”

Instructions, execution.

“Good. Disable the leg and we can reconnect to the abdomen.”

No. He is not more. He is a machine. He sees his old leg tossed aside into a bin. He is a machine.

Are they almost done?

Time stands still here, even for Ignis. He knows exactly how long it has been - eight hours, seventeen minutes, three seconds - and yet time remains still. How do humans pass the time? Music. Reading. Chatter. He has no need for these things.

_Time passes_ , he reminds himself. _Time passes regardless of one’s own activity. I will be back to Noctis soon._

Ignis has kept every memory, even these. Next year he will be due for a software update and the doctors will archive some of his data. Every few years Niflheim sends their own scientists to check on him – their prototype for the crown as a gift between nations. They are the foremost engineers of the androids, manufacturing them for sale throughout the Empire, but Ignis was the sole one of his kind.

Software updates were shorter than hardware, usually an hour at the most, and it was not necessary for him to leave the Citadel. He came out refreshed, anew. Software was easy. He did not have to adapt. His new bodies always stepped differently. Longer legs, a broader chest, full shoulders. He stood differently.

Different. Androids are different, but he is even different from androids.

Different.

He is not sure if he likes it.

Likes it? As if he has the capability to like or dislike. The thought makes him frown - ah, his facial control is back.

“Facial good,” comes a curt statement to his right. “You’re frowning.” A middle aged man leans over him, hair pulled back and tilting his head for a reply.

Ignis opens his mouth to answer but speech is disabled and he just mouths words. The man disappears and Ignis’s eyebrows crease. Alone. He feels trapped in this body he has no control over, unable to speak—

“Ah!” He surprises himself, the sound forcing its way up his throat as the speech is enabled once more.

“There.” The man reappears. “Now, the frown?”

Panic. He is to confide in this man he has never seen? What is he supposed to say? If he admits his stray thoughts they might count him defective and he will never see Noctis again. Excuse, excuse, _excuse_.

“Testing,” he says simply, hoping it will be enough.

A hum of approval and the man’s hands are around his neck, adjusting and unplugging. “Sit up,” he orders, stepping to the head of the table.

Ignis does as he is bid. He tests his arms, drumming his fingers, then pushes himself up. His back straightens and he rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck. A good fit. He sits taller now and he can feel the weight of his middle - broader, heavier. His hands look older and his arms have stronger muscle definition. The legs are longer as well.

He has aged.

The doctor takes him through the motions, testing his new body, his new strength.

The worst part is turning the pain back on. Even his robotic mind knows everything is different and the stiffness of his new joints and parts always freezes him into place. He grits his teeth, hand balling into a fist, and fights the urge to tell them to shut the sensors off again.

“It’ll pass,” the man says without sympathy. Ignis knows. This is not his first time. “Just remember you’re not feeling _real_ pain.”

Real pain.

Is this not real pain?

On instinct, his eyes water. He closes them. It is not real pain. He is a machine. Machines do not feel pain.

Then what is this?

When is his next software update? Perhaps he should ask for a troubleshoot, this pain is particularly excruciating.

_It passes_ , he tells himself. _It always passes. It is not real. It means I am returning to Noctis. It means I am going home._

It passes. He goes home. Noctis is happy to see him. Ignis is happy to be back.

If it is not real pain, is it not real happiness?

The way Noctis smiles at him… a stirring in his chest and he smiles back.

“You’re older,” the prince comments, looking him over.

Ignis nods, “I am.”

He is not. Machines do not age the same way humans do. He has updated. But he does not correct Noctis.

Let Noctis believe he is more, for now.

Ignis always smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr [@spacs](spacs.tumblr.com)!  
> 


End file.
